Real Emotions
by Jenna Linda
Summary: "Merope" It still made me blush the way he managed to twist my heart with that simple look on his beautiful face. This was real; you couldn't make this, force this, it had to be real. From love to pain to struggle to death.
1. Fabrication

**This is a short story about Merope and Tom Riddle, from when he was under her spell till the birth of their child. Read and Review :)**

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><p><strong>Fabrication<strong>

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><p>"Merope?"<p>

I heard the voice drift in from the living room of our small house. Looking up I saw Tom leaning up against the door frame, watching me as I stirred the cauldron. His eyes were soft and his lips slightly parted. It still made me blush the way he managed to twist my heart with a simple look on his beautiful face. His black hair, though slightly greasy now, fell around his face in gentle waves and his eyes were dark and framed by his long lashes.

Salazar, how I loved this man.

"Yes Tom love?" I replied with a soppy smile as he walked towards me, I chuckled as he wrapped his arms around me from behind.

"Tell me again about our son" he whispered into my ear as he kissed the tip in a way that made me melt.

I knew I should have been watching the potion, if I didn't add the second batch of peppermint within a few minutes it would become impotent and I would have to start over again. This wasn't an option as the ingredients were expensive and Tom's wage wasn't large. I bit my lip and rested my head against his firm chest as I continued to stir.

"Our son will be called Tom Marvolo Riddle, just like you but with my father's name in the middle." I owned him something, that man I called father, he would come to see the good of this relationship, eventually "He will be a wizard who will go out into the world and do incredible things. You and I will raise him to see the strength of love and how... and how wizards and muggles are not so different. He will look just like you-"

"No" Tom cut in with a kiss to my head "He will look just like you, for you are the most beautiful person in the world"

I blushed in the sweet smelling fumes of the potion. I knew, deep inside, that it was just the potion that made him think that but sometimes it was just so hard to believe...

"I love you Merope" he whispered into my head and his hands rubbed circles into my belly, where our child lay. Our child.

He turned me around and the ladle fell to the floor with a clash. I didn't care. His dark eyes met mine and his lips, soft, pressed tightly to my own. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him closer and I felt his hands, on my thighs, push me onto the kitchen table. The potion was hissing behind me and I stared deep into those eyes which were so filled with care and love. The way he looked at me, it seemed to touch my soul and I felt it in my heart. This was real; you couldn't make this, force this, it had to be real.

"I love you so much" He breathed, eyes fixated on mine.

This had to be real.

The potion sizzled behind me and I knew that if I didn't act fast then it would be ruined.

But did he need it? My father always said that if you wanted something you had to do it yourself. It wasn't like I was forcing anything on him because it was him feeling the way he was. The potion didn't make love… it merely opened that emotion from the caves in his mind. I was just nudging a feeling he was already capable of into the lime light. Maybe… if I stopped giving him it then the emotion would stay. Looking into his eyes now… how could I say that that emotion wasn't real?

_He_ loved me.

He loved _me_.

He _loved_ me.

"Merope" his voice was husky, concerned but lusty, he lent in a nibbled my collar bone and I gasped.

He was mine, he was beautiful and with him so was I. He saw me for me, I know it, how could that disappear? Emotions and personality were the results of experience, he had grown to love me that couldn't vanish. I was the perfect wife, I cooked, kept him warm at night, I loved him and cleaned his home. I did more for him than I ever did back home and around him I was a proper witch.

Anyway, I carried the Riddle heir, that was important. Bloodlines were important.

If father could see me now he'd never say I wasn't a capable witch. When he got back he would see how I looked like a respectable woman now. When he got back he would find a grandchild, a continuation of our line. Just because the last name had changed didn't make my son any less half a Gaunt. We'd used to be Peverell once, we used to be Slytherin. This was just another small change of name. It wasn't the name that was important, it was the blood.

Father used to say muggles were filth but this man was so much more beautiful than me or him or my ignorant brother. They didn't understand the power of love. What did it matter to them who carried on our line? My son would be a wizard, he would be the best. So what if his father wasn't a wizard?

A pop sounded from behind me and I knew, I knew that the potion was useless now. I also knew I wasn't going to make it again as my husband led me away to our small bedroom.


	2. Realisation

**So this is the second part of what will be a four chapter story :) read and review**

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><p><strong>Realisation<strong>

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><p>I curled up on myself. I couldn't think, couldn't sleep and couldn't move.<p>

This couldn't be happening.

This wasn't right.

Everything had been perfect; everything had been... a lie. My own stupid dreamland, sugar coated and completely false. All this time, everything, every day, every single kiss, touch and look, it had been nothing but a bubbling potion.

I saw his face (his dear, precious face that I would kiss, that I would love till the day I died) slowly contorting. I had been waiting, next to him with bated breath, for that moment. I had been waiting to see his face relax, for him to look at me and see me. Not the beautified woman of the potion but _me_, the real me. I had thought that perhaps he would cry, perhaps he would just laugh like he did with that Cecilia girl (with her perfect curly blond hair and unblemished skin) and tell me how silly I was for bothering with enchantments. I had thought...

His face has started off confused but I had pushed this away, confused was okay, he would turn and see me and it would all be okay. Then that confusion had morphed into shock but that too was alright, shocked was fine, he would come to his senses, he would get over shock. Then he had looked at me.

Then he had looked at _me._

He had seen the girl without the potion.

The real me, he had stared straight at me and his cheeks (soft to touch, pale as alabaster) had risen in a rosy pink. His lips, which were still open in their shock, had quivered.

This is it, I had told myself. Here it comes.

Then his face had changed again.

I beat my hands on the bed we had shared. I kicked out at the duvet. I pushed my face into his side of the bed and I screamed. I screamed and thrashed and hot tears overflowed from my eyes and soaked the bed. I screeched and my throat felt a raw as my heart. I tasted blood, on my lips but I didn't care.

He face had transformed into_ disgust_. He'd stood and gapped angrily at me and then, only then, I began to see the truth.

_"Tom love?"_

_"Y-You, wh-wh-what the hell did you do to me! You- you-"_

Words then.

I knew them, I had heard them before. I had heard them as you had ridden by our house. I had heard them when you had seen me, or father, or Morfin. You had shouted and screamed and I had crawled into the corner, awaiting the fist, the hand, the foot that was sure to come.

Hideous.

Bitch.

Tramp.

Mutant.

They cut me.

I had heard them before.

You had stood there then, staring at me, as I curled into the floor, unable to look away from your beautiful eyes. You had calmed down but the look of repugnance was still on your face. You'd run your eyes down me in repulsion, lingering on my belly.

My belly.

Our baby.

You'd looked away.

Our son.

Tom Riddle.

Your hands had clenched as you brought them to your own eyes. Your shoulders had shaken and I saw your lips press together in silent sobs. I think you'd been horrified at what you had done.

Then you'd left.

You'd gone.

You were gone and I screamed.

Six months of bliss, happiness I had never felt before. I had been beautiful. I had been loved. You hadn't hit me, or shouted at me or bit me with your words. You'd filled me with warmth and soft touched, gentleness, sweetness. Six months. Now I was ugly again, unloved again, broken and useless and pointless again.

I was so alone and cold and empty.

Our son squirmed inside me.

Our son.

Tom Riddle.


	3. Desperation

**Desperation**

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><p>The landlord had looked me up and down, taking in the threadbare shawls, lank hair and drooping off centre eyes, he'd pursed his lips. When his eyes lingered on the bulge visible under my grey dress to my eyes I saw again Tom's dark eyes running (disgusted, hateful, slighted) over me and pausing identically on our baby. I'd instinctively held the small round lump and stared at the scabbing paintwork above his head.<p>

"I'll give ya till the en' of the week, no money by then an' you're out" he'd said slamming the door.

The crashing sound had vibrated through the floor and continued to rattle in my ears. I felt the sudden sound break through the careful force that kept the tears from spilling and shake the broken pieces of my heart.

I'd stumbled away, reaching the staircase up to the flats above and collapsed there.

Cold stone, itchy clothes, hungry.

I was so confused, so useless. The only thing that seemed to tie me to my own mind was the precious boy inside me. When he stirred under my skin he drew me out from the cave of my mind where I had been ever screaming, throwing my hands against the mental wall till I bled...

Or was that real?

The movement of my baby brought me out and I knew that I had to wait, for my child's sake. His life was linked to mine, I had to live.

The flat had been paid for a month and in that time I had lived off the money lying around from Tom' s last wage.

Tom...

When that had gone though, like he'd gone...

First it'd been the pans and cauldron's (apart from the one that mother had used before she died) then it'd been the sofa chair that I'd got a neighbour to haul down the stairs. When I'd tried to move it with magic (with my quivering, unwilling and dirty hands) the wand had been nothing but a wooden stick and I felt the familiar lack of energy in my heart. That was okay, my magic was gone, yes, but I hated it now anyway. I'd pushed/carried the heavy chair till I got to the market. That had been the start.

The start of the end.

Now it was all gone.

All of it.

Tom was gone. The bed we'd shared was gone. The table we used to sit around was gone. The chairs we used to sit on around that table were gone. Even the carpet he'd walked across was gone too. The flat we'd loved in was an empty shell, the wall bare and the plywood floor moulding.

By now I was hardly here either.

That was okay too, just as long as I stayed alive.

Cold stone, itchy clothes, hungry.

The doorstep wasn't what you'd call the nicest shelter but I didn't care. I wasted away my days slowly eating away the last few coins the bed sheets had bought and thinking wretchedly of dark eyes and vile words. I spent the nights curled up where my feet led me, cold, dreaming of dark eyes and soft touches.

Each time I would wake up even more hollow than I'd been the day before as if in the night more of me had been leached away into the lonely darkness.

Each morning I would stuff the few belongings I had back into my mother's cauldron and travel back on my way to nowhere,

Now I stood in front of a dark shop with greasy windows and a sign that creaked as it swung. I couldn't remember how to read the sigh but I had seen the sorts of artefact that the shop sold and knew this was the best I'd find.

A group of hags were leering at me, shaking trays of black odd wrinkly things as they grasped at me. They whispered words of temptation at me. On a corner a man, dressed in grubby black robes and a hood that went over his face, smoked a long gnarled pipe that emitted foul smelling green smoke. He cackled as the hags pocked and prodded at me.

I stood emotionless and still, holding the dirty brass cauldron in front of me, before sighing and dragging their warty hands off me and walking to the shop door. It wasn't like they would be able to find anything in the folds of my dirty robes, I was destitute. The only thing of any value anymore was currently lying cold against my chest.

Slytherin's locket.

The symbol of my ancestry.

I would have liked to have left it for my son but I had nothing else. Nothing.

I watched blandly at the bulged, watery eyes of the shop owner turned over the family heirloom. His wand twitched over it carelessly and he paused, looking up at me and dragged greasy eyes over me. I didn't care, it was only a locket and I was only an excuse for a witch.

His tongue slipped out and wet his lips.

I saw his eyes trying to figure out what he could get passed me. I didn't care. He could give me three Knut and I would shrug and leave with the coins. Anyway, it was only a locket, a grubby one at that. He probably didn't even know who Salazar was; father spewed enough nonsense for the alleged snake speaker to be just a myth.

"Ten Galleons" the man said and I nodded glumly.

I was right; it was probably just a workless piece, valued only for its weight in metal.

There goes my worthless heritage, I thought as he handed over the coins and rushed off to put the locket away. Who cared anyway? All I had to do was live, just for a few months.


	4. Resignation

**This is the final chapter, read and review :)**

****(Cookies for the one who knows what** the closing _italic_ ****means)******

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><p><strong>Resignation<strong>

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><p>I screamed a final time, my vision red and pain, so much pain, burned through me, the woman around me bustled about as another sound hit the air, another person's screams. Sweat covered every part of me and pain slowly dulled to a throb. I was boiling hot though and the air felt clammy around me, stuffy and overused as it filled my raw lungs. The sweat on my face cooled to a sickly cold and I became aware my hair was still damp from the rain. I panted, exhausted and I sagged into the bed they'd placed me in soon after I stumbled into the building.<p>

I had done it. I had…

My eyes tried to close and I let them.

I had done it…

_Sleep…_

"It's a boy ma'am" a voice said and I nodded, I knew that already, of course it was a boy, what else?

I pushed my eyes open reluctantly and forcibly as a woman came forward to help me sit up. Her hands felt cold, freezing, on my skin. I shook with the mere effort of sitting, my whole body quivering and the ache in between my legs intensified to shooting stabs, like sewing needles, sharp and precise.

I had already been weak enough before, wasting away slowly from lack of food and my body being forced to use my energy for warmth. Now, now I was a feeble wimp.

Outside the rumbling chatter of the rain droned on. Thunder crackled. The water beat down on the roof demandingly and trickled over edges with a drip, drip, drip, drip…

Drip. Drip. Drip…

They counted down…

I looked around blearily and my left eye, the less used one since my eyes looked in different directions, blacked out.

The room I was in was dark apart from one lamp that spewed a dusty yellow light that gave everything a dingy look. The walls were white wash and bare save for the metal framed bed, a simple wooden desk and a plywood closet. The floor was bare stone, cold grey. It wasn't warm like mine and Tom's flat but it wasn't filthy and ancient like father's shack. It would do.

I'd decided this place.

It's not like I could change my mind…

_Sleep…_

White sheets, ruby blood, were already being cleared away and a woman came towards me. She was holding a bundle and I gasped (quietly, half heartedly), realising what it was. It was odd; I had nearly forgotten what exactly this was all for, I had been so sure I wouldn't be able to see my son that I had forgotten he would actually be here. She put him in my lap and I saw a pink face in amongst the blanket.

I stared at the tiny face. This was him? This was the thing I had carried? The boy was surly too beautiful to have come from me, this couldn't be…

But I knew it was. This was him. My chest heaved as emotion came. I was too tired for this sort of emotion, it hurt my broken heart. Too broken, the pieces clattered inside me and the parts tried to come together but failed and scraped over raw edges.

It hurt.

His son. This was him, this was Tom's child. He was beautiful and would be even more beautiful when he was a man.

Tom's baby boy…

This was the boy I couldn't have because he wasn't mine, not really.

Tom's baby…

Tiny fists beat and waved and the face scrunched up and squirmed.

Tom…

"His name is to be Tom, for his father" I whispered and the woman next to me nodded, though I didn't see her really "Tom Marvolo, for my father" little Tommy, his little boy "and his surname is Riddle"

He was so tiny, with a little pink face, eyes still shut, and a few curls of brown hair lying flat on his head. He moved in my arms, twisted, and love filled my heart again. A weak love maybe but it was there.

_Sleep…_

Morfin would soften when he saw him...

Father would be glad to have an heir; I thought hazily, he'd love his grandson…

Tom would love his son, when I took him home, Tom would love him…

"I hope he looks like his Papa" I told my little audience and I saw two women exchange looks but like I cared.

They could think anything they wanted; I already knew I was ugly.

Tom would love me when he saw how… I had looked after his son… when I got home…

I looked at the baby and I remembered. Tom hated me. I saw his face. Tom hated me, he hadn't stayed. Father hated me, I felt his fist, he had never loved me. My brother hated me, I heard his sneers, he had thought I was stupid, shameful. I didn't have a home. I had nothing. I was useless, ugly. Tom had thought I was foul. My baby boy didn't deserve to have a mother like me, I was nothing. My baby boy deserved…

_Sleep…_

Tears fell over my face and my thoughts went bland and still.

Nothing, I had none my job.

I sagged and looked again at the baby.

I was so tired, so… exhausted. I could feel the energy in my skin… falling away and I sagged.

_Just sleep…_

Tom is safe now, my boy…

Tom's boy…

So easy… to just sleep... to just leave.

_Just sleep…_

I didn't want to live anymore. I didn't like the world. It was cold, cruel and painful. I was without… anything but darkness. I had thought I'd found love but… I was wrong. Nothing was here for me.

Tom would be safe…

I didn't…

"Tom Riddle" I whispered to the ceiling and I saw the man I loved before my eyes. He had kissed me, loved me, touched me till I was burning. He had looked at me in a way that was almost painful. Perfect. So perfect. His eyes were soft, gentle and peaceful. He would be waiting for me, this Tom was waiting for me. He had gone on after the potions had left but I would find him.

_Go to sleep…_

This baby would be free now, free of me, free of Tom, free of Marvolo.

He would be great, I just knew it, a true Slytherin heir, a true wizard.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, he would take the world by surprise.

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><p><strong><em>Finis est ratio...<em>**

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><p><strong>Read and Review :D Hope you enjoyed<strong>


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